


Unflappable Mouth

by intergalacticju



Category: Amazing Spider-Man (2012), Spider-Man - All Media Types, The Avengers (2012), Ultimate Spider-Man (Cartoon)
Genre: First Kiss, M/M, Superfamily, Team Awesome, dialogue!, holy crap guys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-30
Updated: 2012-08-30
Packaged: 2017-11-13 04:47:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/499635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/intergalacticju/pseuds/intergalacticju
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The thing is, they <i>are</i> that comfortable around each other. It’s nothing for them to hover close, a lingering touch pressed too long, a hand clasped on a shoulder or a thigh. Drifting eyes and smirks at being caught, shrugs when Ava throws them curious stares, then laughing like it’s some sort of private joke. He likes it, likes when he knows Luke’s looking, that he’s got his back, that he’ll <i>be there</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unflappable Mouth

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Floobin](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Floobin).



> Inspired by [this artwork](http://floobings.tumblr.com/post/30501525351/cuties-cuddling-in-an-undercover-mission) by Floobin, who is also responsible for me shipping this pairing straight out to sea.

There is that tiny, underlying doubt when Coulson pulls Peter and Luke aside, tells them they’re being put on an undercover mission, because why would Fury think it was a good idea to put _Peter_ on a mission meant for silence? This is overruled by the fact that, hey, awesome, he gets to go on an _undercover mission_ , that is bitchin’, neener neener. He doesn’t regret the fist pump _or_ the mini dance in celebration of him, even with Coulson’s deadpan stare trying to break through the joy. He’s a teenager, what do you want from him? Luke takes it much better, watching Peter dance with an intrigued smirk, and only when they’re alone again does he instigate their Team Awesome hand shake, because hey, he’s a teenager too.

This is what leads them to a bus bench outside of a bank firm at the butt crack of dawn, wrapped against the cold in civvies and warming their hands on steaming cups of coffee. They’re both wearing thermals under their jeans and thick hoodies, though Peter’s got part of his costume tucked underneath and a billed cap shifted low to cover his face. Luke went the beanie route, keeping his gaze among the early dwellers and resting his arm easily around Peter’s shoulders. Their breaths puff out in wisps, like ghosts.

“Man I hate undercover missions,” Luke mutters, bringing the coffee to his lips and sighing. Peter’s lifted his to his face, breathing in the steam, though he eyes Luke through his peripheral. “You do?” he asks quietly before the excitement of the other day comes crawling back through the early morning haze, his eyebrow raised quizzically.

“Wait, how many of these have you actually been on?” Peter may have been introduced to Luke and the gang after a year of crime fighting by himself or with the Avengers, but he doubts there’s been many SHIELD issued solo missions for the young heroes. SHIELD could barely stand Spiderman under the influence of Steve Rogers, let alone being on his own. Luke turns to face him, shrugging carelessly and drinking from his cup like it’s been spiked and he needs the strength.

“None,” he admits, eyes scanning the crowd again. Peter snorts, drinking heavily and resting the cup between his thighs, leaning back against Luke’s arm.

“Then how can you already hate it? Day’s still young. _Way_ young.”

“Exactly,” Luke sighs, a tired lull visible around the eyes. “M’already tired of sitting here. Not exactly the pinnacle of patience.”

“Ooh, pinnacle. Big word.” Peter grins, laughing when Luke cuffs him on the shoulder with his cup. “What, afraid of getting caught? This is New York, no one cares.” This earns him a scoff, but he sees the way his friend looks away, avoiding the gaze from under the billed hat.

 “Probably not selling it,” he hears Luke mumble. Peter is suddenly bombarded with the light bulb of assaulting ideas, and even _he_ isn’t sure if they’re good or bad. He nestles more against Luke’s arm, resting his head against his shoulder and thankful that they’re so comfortable around each other. Constantly being caught or carried princess style can do that to a friendship.

The thing is, they _are_ that comfortable around each other. It’s nothing for them to hover close, a lingering touch pressed too long, a hand clasped on a shoulder or a thigh. Drifting eyes and smirks at being caught, shrugs when Ava throws them curious stares, then laughing like it’s some sort of private joke. He likes it, likes when he knows Luke’s looking, that he’s got his back, that he’ll _be there_.

“Then sell it.” His grin turns a bit more mischievous, fingers twisting the bill of his hat to look up at Luke, eyes crinkling. He gets a cocked brow for his trouble, but then he’s lifting his coffee out of his lap and placing it on the floor, slipping Luke’s out of his hand and setting it on the back of the bench. It’s not hard for him to twist himself more against his friend, frame slimmer and easier to manipulate, and like a man who has done this a million times before he ends up partially in Luke’s lap, leg flung over the back of the bench and elbow almost cutting into his knee.

“What are you doing?” Luke asks, but he doesn’t seem alarmed, instead staring down at Peter with an amused grin. Peter wiggles, resting his hand atop his hat and leaning more into the warmth.

“What does it look like I’m doing?” He whispers, white heat dissipating into the cold in a long tendril of words. “I’m selling it.”

“That’s one way of putting it.” His chuckle is warm, his arm shifting to drape over Peter’s waist easily. From this close he can see the flush the cold has caused across his face, the way his smile is loose and unforced. Peter feels himself rising to boldness. He doesn’t have to think to know he’s going to put his cold hand on Luke’s face, not that he thinks much of his actions, let’s be honest here, and wouldn’t you know it if Luke still doesn’t pull away. He’s subconsciously hoping they’re not accidentally playing a rousing game of gay chicken, because hey, Luke’s definitely going to lose that one, come on. There’s a line of tension emerging on his friend’s face, though, his brows knit together as if he’s over thinking.

“What’re you thinking, webhead?” He’s asked, the whisper so much quieter than their previous mumbles. There’s a hint to the question, a curious fear, pulled back by the closeness they normally share.

“Hotdogs,” he answers quickly, still smiling, and it grows bigger when Luke just looks amused again. “You know you want a hotdog, Tiny.”

“I’m totally not getting you a hotdog.” The arched brow Luke gives him tugs at Peter, and wow, was this always there or did the light bulb start beating him over the head? He almost doesn’t hear Luke’s reply because his heart is pounding in his ears and he knows he’s going to act without thinking again, but Luke is leaning over him even more now and their breaths are mingling visibly in the cold air and what is he supposed to do, ignore that? He closes the gap easily enough, pressing their lips together. It’s soft and quick and tastes like coffee, but then Luke is pulling away and _shit_ , wrong move Spidey, way to go Parker you _idiot_.

He doesn’t have time to reflect on the face Luke is giving him, this mixture of confusion and fear and awkwardness, because his brain is _screaming_ at him to pay attention. To say his Spider Senses were tingling was an understatement, and in a swift move he’s rolling off of Luke’s lap, gaze fixated on the bank with the small-time villain making true with his threats to blow it up.

“You _motherhugger_ ,” he spits, knowing they’re going to get points docked for this even as he’s running, because Coulson’s sadistic and he let things go too far. There’s no room to talk during the fight, and for once Peter’s glad for it.

\--

When they get back to the helicarrier, they smell like singed hair and soot. They don’t look much better, Spiderman’s outfit half burned away and Power Man’s sunglasses cracked and partially missing the lenses. To call the mission a success would probably be a lie, but they caught the guy and no one died, so Peter likes to think of it as a win at least. Sam’s laughing hysterically at them, but any quips and stupidity he’s spouting is lost on deaf ears. There’s still an awkward tension in the air. Sam’s oblivious but Ava and Danny notice, see how Luke refuses to look at Peter _or_ them until he’s retreating, leaving them behind.

“What’s up with him?” She asks, trying to catch on to Peter’s gaze, and getting a forced shrug in response. Her knowing glances normally cause mirth and playful smirks. Peter isn’t giving her any of it, ignores how her face falls as if she suddenly knows. He’s not in the mood to have a discussion with them about it, is dreading even more the oncoming explanation to Coulson as to why they let the bomber actually discharge something before stopping him. Luke won’t throw him under the bus but Coulson’ll read him like properly filed paperwork.

Instead of heading towards the debriefing room he abandons the others in search of a neutral party. There’s a cacophony of hiding places he knows he could be, but he doesn’t have to search long before he senses being watched. When he looks up, there’s a dirty blond head poking out of an open panelling of the ceiling, grinning cheekily before popping back up. He waits as the figure rights himself and jumps down before he leans back against the wall, expression despondent as he smacks his head.

“Well, Coulson’s pissed,” Clint Barton grins, clapping Peter on the shoulder and joining him along the wall. “He’s yelling at your little boyfriend right now, or at least his version of yelling.”

Peter groans, sliding down onto the ground at Clint’s description, covering his sooty face with his hands. He doesn’t see Clint’s grin falter, just feels as he’s joined on the floor, his mind an antagonising slew of self-deprecating words.

“Heard you got into a fight with a bomb.” Clint tries again, a certain gentleness towards his pseudo-nephew, placing his hand on his shoulder again. Peter likes Clint. He taught him how to aim and let him cause mischief as a child. He was always the neutral person to go to when Peter was having an argument with his dads, and for all his snark he knows how to be around young people. Maybe it was because Clint was a manchild himself. But he knew how to be gentle, too, and not in a patronising way. “What happened kiddo?”

“I took a leaf out of dad’s book and followed my dick instead of my head.” Peter supplies, grumbling as he runs his fingers through his fluffed and fire-damaged hair. He loves his dad but he knows about his pre-Iron Man days, knows how flirtatious he is now. The ‘playboy’ part of the ‘genius billionaire playboy philanthropist’ moniker is there for a reason, and just because he’s in a long term relationship doesn’t mean he keeps it in his pants.

“Ppfftt yea no you’re not supposed to do that.” Clint laughs, earning himself a death glare.

“No kidding.”

They sit in silence for a while, the hum of the helicarrier’s machinery and engines a background thrum. Normally these lulls in conversation are a race between which of the two of them can break it first, but this time it seems they’re willing to let it stretch on for a while. Until Clint starts to hum, indicating he wants to say something, and Peter looks up from his hunched position to let him.

“Want my advice?” He asks, knee tucked up to his chest and arm draped over it. Peter eyes him carefully, brows knit as if waiting for a joke.

“Depends. Is it any good?”

“Oh har har har. Fine, if you don’t want it.” Clint grins, watching as his nephew does the same. Peter nods his head, indicating for him to go on. “Talk to him. You’re pretty good at the whole talking thing, can’t get ya to shut up most of the time.”

“Wow, you’re one to talk.”

“Sshh. Ssh. Talk to him. He’s a good friend, he won’t leave ya behind.”

Peter stares at him, watching as Clint seems rather proud of his advice, before Peter snorts and wipes away the grin his uncle’s sporting.

“Well I could have told you that!” He snarks, shaking his head and rubbing at his face again. “Wow. Just, wow. I may be my father’s son but I’d like to think my emotional range is larger than that of a teaspoon. Way to go Uncle Clint, that is some top notch parenting.”

“Oh shut up,” Clint grumbles, turning away to smile as Peter laughs. He’s interrupted by his communicator, beeping angrily in its demands to have Peter debriefed, and he lets the laughter die off in a sigh. Clint helps him up, grimacing as his nephew’s smile falls again.

“I can’t make him go easy on ya.” He explains, actually looking sorry. Peter shrugs and shakes his head, heading back down the hallway.

“I wouldn’t ask you to. This is my mess and I’m going to deal with it.”

\--

It takes a few days and a lot of yelling. He surprises himself by how mature he’s being, but it doesn’t stop him from sulking in his room whenever given the chance. Tony looks conflicted because no doubt he’s done the exact same thing, and Steve’s mostly glad things turned out okay. It doesn’t stop them from giving him a “stern talking to”, but after it’s done he can sigh in bitter disappointment and squeeze himself between his fathers, where he can rest his head on Tony’s shoulder while Steve cards his fingers through his hair like he was eight again.

Being on vacation means no easy run-ins in regards to Luke, so he rolls out of bed to combat the situation head on. He revels in the winter air, allowing the chill to keep his head clear as he treks through the dirty slush of New York. He almost wants to think he’s running over what he’s going to say in his head, but even he doesn’t feel he’s that clichéd. He’s smart, but his mouth flies better when left to its own devices, which has proven to be both beneficial and awful. _Like what happened on Thursday_ , his mind supplies unhelpfully.

When he gets there, his uncovered knuckles rap on the door, and he wonders if he’s shaking from the cold or nervousness. He can’t stop thinking about the idea of it; Luke hovering nearby, stolen glances, warm touches. How it felt to kiss, and yea, the more he thinks of it the more he likes it. Luke’s his best friend though, and while it would be amazing to expand on that, he’d rather back away than lose it all entirely.

The door opens and he almost jumps back, lost in thought when he told himself not to. He stares up at Luke, who doesn’t look too surprised to see him on his stoop, but doesn’t look too happy either.

“I need to talk to you,” Peter blurts out, and bless Luke for not slamming the door in his face. He sighs instead, pulling the door shut behind him and crossing his arms, though he’s already bouncing on his feet from the cold.

“Look,” he starts, mimicking Luke’s movement and stuck between wanting to stare at him and find anything else to look at. “Look,” he repeats, swallowing once and then just going for it. “I’m not going to apologise for kissing you because I’m not sorry I did it. I wasn’t thinking and I took a shot and I don’t really know the meaning of ‘time and place’. I _can_ apologise for doing it during a mission, and really, that’s my bad, I know better, but like I said, ‘time and place’. I can also apologise for making you uncomfortable, because I would also really would like to avoid that, really, not lying there, that was completely my bad and I would definitely rather sweep it under the rug if you want because I value our friendship more than that and- why are you smiling?”

“You ramble like your dad when you’re nervous.” Luke grins, shaking his head a little as Peter stands there, making about five different expressions per second.

“Yes. Yes I do. Good observation. I’ll just keep going, you’d better stop me.” His words falter as Luke puts his hand on his shoulder, eyeing him levelly.

“I’m going to agree with you on the ‘time and place’ thing. You really need to work on that.” Luke squeezes his shoulder gently, and Peter just nods in agreement. He watches as Luke seems to have some sort of internal monologue with himself, before nodding determinedly.

“Right. Did you kiss me just to make that whole thing look realistic? To ‘sell it’?” He asks like the answer is important, masked behind the tough demeanour he knows how to wear. Peter immediately shakes his head, not daring to tear his gaze away.

“No way,” he answers for good measure, then decides to pull another leaf out of his dad’s book. “Unless you want it to. Like I said, we can do this whole-“ he stops to make a motion with his hands, like he’s pushing a pile of something away, “ _sweeping_ thing. I know it sounds like a copout but I will totally instigate said copout if it means you don’t hate me.”

“I don’t hate you,” Luke quickly answers, and Peter sags a little as he breathes.

“Well that’s a relief.” He grins, unsure what he’s waiting for now. Luke seems to be pondering still, like he’s not sure what to do.

“I’d rather not ruin what we have,” the sentence starts slowly, tentative footsteps towards a direction, and Peter isn’t sure how he’s going to feel about the outcome.

“Me neither,” he interrupts, and Luke puts up his hand to stop any potential torrent of verbal vomit that may spew.

“I’d rather not ruin what we have,” he starts again, “but I cannot deny I haven’t thought about it.”

Peter blinks, brows scrunched and then one lifted, tilting his head ever so slightly as if he’s unsure what he just heard. Inside his head, he is dancing. Luke seems to understand the look on Peter’s face, going back to stoic to dissuade the possible onslaught of whooping.

“A little bit. In passing. Hypothetically.”

“Oooh big word,” Peter croons, grinning in that little smartass way he does, and Luke chuckles, let’s the demeanour fall.

“Smartass.” Luke calls him on it, hesitates a moment, and then leans down. His fuller mouth is on Peter’s in an instant, the hand on Peter’s shoulder sliding to his neck and cupping his face. Peter’s eyes slide shut, hand on Luke’s chest, and wow, what does that say about him? This kiss is better though. It lasts longer and it’s more coordinated and it’s _wanted_ , and Peter is still dancing in his head because oh look, Luke Cage is kissing him, neener neener. Luke pulls away but Peter follows, giving him another peck on the lips before they’re staring at each other, breathing in puffs against the cold.

“Wow,” Luke says, smiling, and Peter mirrors it.

“Yeah.” He nods his head, swallowing, his hand still on his friend’s chest.

“Yeah,” Luke echoes, watching from above and then nodding as well. “Okay, yeah. This could work.”

“Damn straight,” he laughs, then shakes his head and pulls his hand away. “Well, probably not straight. Whatever. You know what I mean.”

“You should quit while you’re ahead.”

“I’m sensing this is a good idea.” There is a moment of silence before they’re both laughing, letting the tension between the two of them bleed away. Peter’s shaking his head in that way he does that means ‘yes’, lopsided grin spreading across his face jovially. He backs away a little, shoving his hands in his pockets and shrugging as Luke watches him with amusement. “All right, so I’ll call ya. Or you call me. You have my number.” He’s still backing up, almost tripping over the stoop. Luke grins and shakes his head, his arms crossing loosely from the lack of warmth more than anything.

“Yes I do. Get outta here.”

“Yep, yep, doing so. Quitting while ahead, you just. Yeah. Awesome.”

Luke laughs, opening the door behind him, and Peter can see his grin even as he keeps backing away. “Awesome.”


End file.
